My Biggest Mistake as a Club Lacrosse Parent

“Dad, another word and I am quitting.”

Right in the middle of the game. Not after the game, not at halftime, not during a timeout. Ball still in play. My middle child, done with me.

I stood there for a second. The game kept going. Other parents were watching. And honestly? I didn’t know what to say because he was right. The “move,” the “gotta have that,” the “wheels” — all of it, every game, had finally hit a wall. That wall was my kid telling me to stop.

I was embarrassed. But more than embarrassed, I was stuck. Because I realized in that moment that everything I thought I was doing to help was doing the opposite. That’s when I realized my biggest mistake as a club lacrosse parent. This wasn’t my experience. It was his. My job was to pay for it, drive him there, and be happy he was doing something he loved. That’s it. I had turned it into something else without even realizing it.

That one moment changed how I approached all three of my kids from that point forward. And when I sat down and really thought about it, the sideline coaching was just one piece. There were a lot of ways this same mistake showed up.

The Sideline Coaching

Already covered above in painful detail above and in my blog on Sideline Parent Personalities. But I’ll add this — looking back, I am genuinely grateful he said something. Because when I reflected on it, it wasn’t just him. I had done the same thing with all three of my kids, in different ways, at different times. Every time I thought I was helping, I was adding pressure and, a lot of the time, giving them flat-out wrong advice. If I could tell a new club lax parent — or any youth sports parent — one thing, it’s this: fight that instinct at all costs. It does not help your kid. And honestly, it kind of makes you look like an ass to the other parents standing next to you.

The Training Push

Training centers are everywhere now and for the most part, they’re good. We are lucky to have an incredible one in our hometown. When my son first started going, he loved it. He asked to go. He was a weekly fixture and it genuinely helped him. Then at some point, without me even noticing when it happened, the conversation shifted. It went from “Dad, can I go tonight?” to me asking “Son, do you want to go tonight?” to eventually “Son, if you want to keep getting better, you should go tonight.”

That last one is the one I regret the most.

As I wrote in my very first post, this has to be their decision. Their love. Not something we push on them because we think we know what’s best for their development. My son still loves the game. But to this day, extra training is a rarity for him. Not because I won’t pay for it — I would in a second. But because I took something he was doing for himself and made it feel like an obligation. I made it not fun. That one’s on me.

The Comparison Trap

Having three kids in the same sport meant I had three times the chances to get this one wrong.

All three of my kids are different. Different positions, different strengths, different styles of play. And at some point, I started cross-referencing them out loud. “Watch how your sister does it.” “You should do that more like your brother.” I thought I was being helpful. I was being an idiot.

My oldest finally had enough and got upset — real tears — and looked at me and said, “I’m not her.” Three words. And they hit harder than anything my middle son said on that sideline.

You don’t need three kids to fall into this one. I hear it constantly on sidelines from parents comparing their kid to a teammate. “You should dodge like Joey.” “Why can’t you be more aggressive like Suzie?” Every single time, zero good is coming from it. Not for the kid, not for the relationship. Nothing.

The Post-Game Debrief

Every parent sees moments during a game where their kid could have done something differently. That’s natural — even the guys playing in the PLL today have those moments. The mistake is climbing in the car and bringing them up.

I tried to do it smoothly. Casually. Like I was just making conversation. It didn’t matter. The second we pulled out of the parking lot and I started in, I could see the headphones coming out. They were done. Game over.

What I do now: “Great job.” “Did you have fun?” That’s it. Two sentences. And when I actually let those land first, something changes. Their guard comes down. And sometimes — not always, but sometimes — they bring something up themselves. A play they wish they’d made differently. A mistake they noticed. And when that happens, I have one answer: “It’s one play. You played great. You had fun with your friends.” That’s the whole conversation.

Celebrating the Wrong Things

Ask most parents what they’re watching for during a game and the answer is goals. Goals are great. They’re exciting. They show up in the stat line. But 95% of the time, a goal is the result of four or five other things that happened before it — a ground ball, a great clear, a pass that put someone in position, a defensive stop that started the whole possession.

I’ve watched grandparents offer $5 a goal after games like it’s an incentive program. I’ve seen parents take their kid’s phone away after a game for not scoring. That’s not a game problem. That’s a parent problem. The game is deeper than the box score, and until you really watch it that way, you’re going to keep celebrating the wrong things and missing what’s actually happening on the field.

Adding Anxiety

I love watching my kids play. Always have. But early on, that excitement came out in ways that didn’t help anyone. The last-minute “advice” in the car pulling into the parking lot. Trying to pump them up in the team tent before they took the field. The sideline pacing.

None of it helped. All of it hurt.

Kids read their parents. They feel what you’re bringing to the sideline, and when what you’re bringing is tension — even well-intentioned tension — they carry it onto the field with them. It adds to their anxiety instead of settling it. I realized this was part of the same problem the day my son threatened to quit. My energy was not neutral. It needed to be.

My Biggest Mistake – What I’d tell every Club Lacrosse Parent

This is their experience. Let them live it. Your job is to be the most positive person in their corner — not the coach, not the analyst, not the one comparing them to anyone else. Just the person who shows up, cheers, and means it.

And the second thing — the one I think about the most — is this: 99.5% of these kids are not going pro. What they’re building out here isn’t a path to a professional contract. It’s everything else. Resilience. Accountability. How to be a good teammate. How to handle a bad day and show up again the next morning. Those are the things that are being developed — the life lessons we want them to retain from this journey, long after the stick goes in the corner of the garage for good.

Seven years in, I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d just have figured this out in month one instead of year one.